Rescue
by wneleh
Summary: They get John back.


Notes: Written for the 2009 Secret Santa exchange on sheppard_hc for kriadydragon. I hope I met the spirit, if not the letter, of her request (given at the end of the story). Contains fairly explicit violence. Thanks, starwatcher307, for the excellent beta! Takes place post-S5.

Rescue

by Helen W.

**Present**

"Are we cloaked? McKay, are we cloaked?"

Ronon's voice. Ronon?

"His heart is still beating very rapidly. I do not know the cause."

That sounded like Teyla.

"Well, I think he's earned the right to be a little freaked."

Rodney.

"I believe - I count thirty beats in ten seconds. That is one hundred eighty per minute."

Teyla again; but one-eighty wasn't a big deal at all if you were running…

Running! They had to run!

John pushed against the apparatus behind him; the bands were gone, but…

He wasn't in the Gech control room. No, he was lying on the floor of a jumper, surrounded by people who couldn't be there. Teyla closest, her hands on his arm, Ronon and Rodney behind her.

Another illusion, then. But this time he was able to move, to curl around his knees and listen to his heart pound.

* * *

**Before**

John didn't suspect anything was wrong until the young tech who'd called him aside, reached into his jacket and pulled out something that almost certainly wasn't a screwdriver. John, cursing his complacency, was dropping his datapad and pulling out his own weapon when the kid fired. Only then did he realize what had seemed so familiar about the young Traveler. He'd seen those eyes before.

When he awoke, he was lying on a bunk in what looked to be shipboard living quarters, complete with cooking facilities he hoped to never have to figure out. Probably on a different ship - the compartment proportions were different here, the background hum a different pitch. It felt - yes, considerably smaller; probably not much bigger than a jumper, perhaps just this area and a bridge of some sort.

John's legs were bound, and his hands were tied behind his back, but a little experimentation showed they wouldn't be hard to get out of. Amateurs, then; this could be good, or very, very bad.

"Hello!" he called.

His attacker entered, and John finally figured out whose eyes the kid had. "You're Nevik's - what, brother?" he asked. Poor Nevik, killed when the Wraith had destroyed the bridge of the battleship because Larrin hadn't known what the hell she was doing.

The kid nodded; John asked, "And you are?"

"Stonvik."

"Stonvik. Right. I'm John. Sorry we weren't properly introduced earlier. I'd shake, but…" and he shrugged his shoulders, "I'm a bit tied up."

"I know who you are," said Nevik.

"Look, I'm really sorry your brother died," said John, and meant it. Although the Travelers were proving to be - today at least - more trouble than they were worth, he'd always had sympathy for them and even a bit of empathy for their flashes of instinctual ruthlessness.

"It doesn't matter what you intended; just that he died. So, by our laws, you're mine."

"Uh… nobody told me about your law."

"It's not always followed."

"Wonderful." But since Stonvik seemed chatty… "So - any particular plans?"

"You'll find out."

* * *

**Present**

"John… John, can you hear me?"

For years, John had been trying to figure out why Rodney never used his first name. It was just weird that he hardly ever did. What made today special?

Someone lifted his head, and something soft was placed between his ear and the deck. Yes, that was better. Something else was spread over his body, dimming the chill a little.

"John, what's wrong? Where does it hurt?"

* * *

**Before**

Jumping through hyperspace while tied up felt distinctly, weirdly unpleasant. Like riding in the center of a merry-go-round with his eyes closed.

He'd take massive g-forces any day.

But it was over pretty quickly, and then Stonvik was back. "We've arrived," he said. "You're going to fetch a pretty good price from the Furlen. Enough for me to actually buy this ship."

What the hell? Being sold into slavery was not what John had had in mind for the day. (A little kidnapping? No big, that had happened more times than John could count.)

Even as he was saying, "Your own ship, eh? Guess that pretty much balances out losing your brother. You should thank me," he realized that this would have been a good time to shut up. Stonvik's face contorted from passively nervous to enraged, and he aimed a punch at John's stomach. John dodged and turned so that the blow wasn't as hard as it could have been, but the second one left him gasping.

Time to get free. John pivoted away from Stonvik's third blow and rolled the poorly-tied cords around his wrists. In an instant, his hands were loose, and then he was off the bunk and lunging for the side of Stonvik's jacket where his weapon had been concealed earlier.

There was nothing hard or weapon-like there, and then John was off-balance and they were both falling to the deck, Stonvik landing beneath him.

"Hey!" another man's voice called; oh, wonderful. John rolled so that Stonvik, who seemed dazed, was between him and the newcomer, then rose to his knees and threw Stonvik forward.

It actually worked; Stonvik tangled with the other man, and John was able to hop-leap around them into the craft's other compartment.

The forward viewscreen showed that they had entered a planet's atmosphere and were heading downward rapidly. How quickly could he figure out the controls?

But then Stonvik's partner was on him. John grabbed at a console to brake his fall, flipping some toggles in the process. Probably another bad move, he realized. He was definitely off his game today. The pounding Stonvik'd given him certainly hadn't helped.

Something about their motion shifted in a way that John couldn't quite quantify (not having been consciously aware of their motion to start with). "What's happening?" yelled Stonvik.

John looked at the controls. Not a setup he'd ever seen before; well, shit, there went that plan. He swung himself into an empty seat and worked on freeing his legs while Stonvik and his partner were absorbed piloting the ship. It was a probably a very bad sign that they paid him no attention whatsoever.

The landing wasn't as bad as it could have been: a bit rough, but the craft held together and - though John was glad he'd been sitting, and had had something to hold onto - whatever they used for dampening worked like a dream. Given the overall level of tech of the craft, it was probably something the Air Force could use. Material for his monthly report, at least.

His captors weren't nearly as happy to be on the ground as he'd have expected them to be. They still seemed to have forgotten he was there, and were now hunched over a display, arguing.

"Problem, gentlemen?" he asked.

"Not if you don't mind cannibals!" said Stonvik's partner.

"I've met worse. So, no Wraith today?"

"The Wraith do not come to this world," said Stonvik. "And who says the Gech are cannibals? Their enemies, the Furlen, tell us that. So, I'm not worried. Maybe they'll even meet our price for him."

"You haven't heard the tales I have!" said his partner; then, "They're here."

"That was fast," said John.

"They probably sensed us when we were in orbit," said Stonvik. "They are - like you, you might say. They use the technologies of the ancestors."

"Hey, cousins!" said John. Yes, this was going to be a better monthly report than usual.

* * *

**Present**

He was being pulled at… NO!

"John, you must stay still." Teyla again. "We must make sure you do not have injuries we cannot see."

"It's a bit late to worry about a back or neck injury, don't you think?" Rodney.

"I was not aware you had taken the time to learn the basics of emergency medical care." Teyla, sounding pissed off.

Was that his fault? John took several deep breaths and tried to cooperate as his body was straightened until he was lying on his back, but his hands kept jerking. Teyla's hands scanned down his arms and legs, torso and neck, then his head. It hurt, of course, but that pain was old.

"I don't like how this feels," she said, and now Rodney was poking at his skull, showing considerably less skill. "And look at the wound on his back."

"Yow!"

"John? Teyla, he's talking!"

"Yes, Rodney, a good sign. Now lift him up."

John let them raise his shoulders, then -

NO, NOT THERE!

The place behind his left shoulder blade, where they'd done something, blazed hot. He screamed and pulled away and forward, then turned so that his back was to the jumper's port bench.

"John, let me see that," Teyla said.

"It's that cut," said Rodney. "John?" Rodney was now very close. "John, I'm sorry. We won't touch you there again. It's okay to relax, like you were before. Okay?"

"It might be a tracker," said Ronon. "Never got a really good look at my own, so I don't know for sure."

"If it is…" Teyla started.

"Our sensors are working fine," said Rodney. "Nobody's close. John, do you understand? Nobody's near but us. And no matter what, they're not going to get you back."

John nodded, wondering how Rodney'd read his mind. He'd rather - he'd rather - anything than be recaptured.

"John, please calm down." Teyla just didn't understand…

She seemed to be taking his pulse again. "He is cold, and his heart rate is accelerating," Teyla said, and then he was being lifted and - what, Ronon was now behind him?

"Ronon's got you," said Rodney. "I have to be able to get us in the air quickly. You're okay with Ronon, right?"

God, Ronon. How often had he wished for Ronon, in the beginning?

* * *

**Before**

Stonvik, ignoring the pleas of his partner, opened the airlock for the small band of men as they approached the craft.

It was the last thing he ever did. The men, who were well-armed even by Ronon's standards, streamed in. One of them waved around a sensor of some type that looked as cheesy as anything on Old Trek, then pointed at John. "This one's off the scale!" he said. "The others are useless."

"Very well," said a man who John sensed was the leader. He raised his weapon and shot the two Travelers, then nodded at John. "Bring that one," he said.

* * * *

He was in a clearing, being kicked, in the side, his stomach, his head…

* * * *

He was being dragged through a dusty street, pelted with waste…

* * * *

His dried, cracked lips were being pried open, and John gulped a liquid that tasted like ? He should have spit it out, he should have, but he was so thirsty…

* * * *

Where were they? Where were his people? They had to know he was missing…

* * *

**Present**

Rodney's voice again: "What did they do to him?"

"We don't need to know," said Ronon.

Rodney was again no more than six inches from his face, and he'd taken John's hand. Really, a bit excessive, and John wanted to tell him he was okay, but his brain couldn't seem to get the words to his mouth. He could at least squeeze back…

"Why's he shaking so much?" Rodney asked.

John wished he could stop…

* * *

**Before**

"This is the Ancen?"

The jeers had stopped, and now a tall, robed figure was looking down at him.

"A Furlen ally; this is our right," said someone John couldn't see.

"Not if you destroy his usefulness," said Robed Guy. John chanced a smile at him - he was supposed to be charming, right? Time to make friends with the local leadership.

Robed Guy kicked him in the temple.

* * *

**Present**

"Maybe we should talk to him," said Rodney.

"And maybe not," said Ronon.

"He likes it when I talk," said Rodney, actually managing to sound wounded. "Colonel, you've been gone three weeks. We knew that someone named Stonvik had you, but it took a long time for a friend of his, Xurin, to turn up missing. Xurin had contacts all over this part of the galaxy, and it took a lot of legwork - well, actually, I don't know how hard the Travelers looked, but there wasn't a lot of it we could do - until we learned this planet existed. Larrin pinged a contact in one of the local governments this morning, and they reported that the two largest powers on the planet seemed to be using tech and weapons they hadn't been able to operate in recent memory. And so we thought we'd better check it out - and, well, here we are.

"That's the one-minute version. And when you're, uh, feeling better, I'll give you the five-hour version. Um, would you like it now? Please say something, Sheppard!"

"Let him rest, McKay," said Ronon.

"Does he look like he's resting to you?"

* * *

**Before**

John's first thought was that Rodney would love this place. Or maybe it was more something Elizabeth would have dug?

The lab - it seemed to be a universal constant that labs looked like labs - scanned as Ancient, but not in the gleaming way of Atlantis. More functional; more gray; and not nearly as orderly, with apparatus of various dimensions scattered across work surfaces and even along the walls. It also kind of stank, like a bunch of guys living together in a place where showers were scarce stank. Very unlike Atlantis.

So he was going to have to play lightswitch for a while. He could handle that. In fact, it was perfect. A little creative interpretation of whatever gadgets they handed him, and he'd have a useful arsenal by dinner.

That's not what happened.

"Excellent," said Robed Guy, "You've cleaned it," which seemed an odd thing to say given the state of the place.

"Yes, the timing couldn't be better," said one of the women who seemed to go with the lab. She smiled at him… No, because of him. "The last volunteer persisted until this morning, thanks to the heroic efforts of the healers. Long enough, thank the Ancens, to sense this one's craft. But her ending came swiftly after that, and there was nothing we could do."

"I apologize for taking so long to bring you this one."

"No need," she said, "we've been taking advantage of the downtime, freshening the place up a bit, as you noticed."

Two goons maneuvered him to the most cluttered wall and pressed him against a part that seemed, if anything, like a redistributed ancient chair, with the headpiece and bands where you'd want them to be for arms and legs…

Oh.

Rodney, Ronon, Teyla, NOW would be a really good time to show up…

A minute later, he was part of the machine.

* * *

**Present**

"John, how can we help you?" Rodney kept asking.

John pressed still closer to Ronon's side. No help, there'd been no help…

* * *

**Before**

His clothes were gone, and he was cold.

But that didn't matter.

The field proctors turned to him. Where should they spread water? Where were there threats from pests, from wind, from heat?

The water proctors turned to him. Was the system clean? Where were there losses? It had been so long since they could work at their peak.

The sky proctors turned to him. This morning, aliens came. Were they safe now? Were there more coming?

And, a refrain, over, under, through these proctors and others - The Furlen, the Furlen, what of ours will they take next? Where will they strike? How can we stop them?

And then, something else… another path, unclogged after years (after ages?)… and, somewhere else, excitement, strength, suspicion, stealth.

* * *

**Present**

"There are stories of planets that have human life, but are disconnected from all other worlds," Teyla was saying; to him? "If the population is not centralized, has some defense, and poses no offplanet threat, perhaps these worlds do not receive the same sort of attention from the Wraith as happened on Sateda."

"Yeah, we had the same stories," said Ronon, his voice as much felt as heard. "We went looking for them, in fact. Found this one world - maybe it was this one. Lost three ships there before we decided it was more than bad luck."

"So not real friendly," said Rodney. "Bastards."

"Perhaps it was why they survive," said Teyla.

* * *

**Before  
**  
In the other place, they did not ask him questions, but the pull was exhausting.

Here, in the Room, they were not pleased. "He was stronger yesterday. Stronger still the day before."

"Is his nutrition sufficient?"

"Yes, it's adequate."

"Perhaps we should accelerate him."

"He will not last as long."

"Well, nothing lasts forever, does it?"

* * * *

"The Furlen are more active."

"Do they know of our new resource?"

"Perhaps. I fear a new attack."

* * * *

"A ship! Like nothing ever seen before!"

"Trajectory?"

"Directly this way!"

John focused the proctors. A jumper!!! Finally, rescue!

Another pull of strength - a weapon system??? No, he wouldn't… they couldn't make him…

But they did. A stream of drones streamed from him; the jumper was down.

Who was on it? Who had he killed?

* * *

**Present**

It hadn't been his team - it hadn't been Rodney, or Teyla, or Ronon.

Unless this was an illusion? "Rodney? You aren't dead?"

"Well, obviously not, Sheppard."

"Then who… was it Lorne?"

"Major Lorne and his team are in orbit," said Ronon. "Waiting for us."

"With our pilot," said Rodney. "Lieutenant Cassell. He did something to his ankle when we were getting you out, and Lorne's jumper was closer."

"You did assure Major Lorne that you were comfortable operating this craft," said Teyla.

They weren't listening! "I shot down a jumper," said John. "Who was on it?"

Silence for a moment. "Well, it wasn't one of ours," said Rodney. "Must have been local."

Was that possible? Or were they lying to him? But Ronon's grip tightened. "Easy, Sheppard," he rumbled. "You didn't kill anyone, I promise you."

"Right, yes, of course not," said Rodney. "I bet that whatever it is you shot down's what got the attention of the Traveler's contact. So good job, you saved yourself, hoo-rah and all that. So you can stop being so freaked out, alright?"

"No," said Ronon. "I don't think that's it."

* * *

**Before**

Giving up felt familiar. Felt like flying choppers in Antarctica. React, react, react. Mind the proctors, feed the proctors, react, react.

Sometimes, a prick in his forearm, and he would sleep, but the proctors would not allow it for long.

There was so much to do; so much he could do by just being, just reacting.

But he was so tired.

* * *

**Present**

"Maybe if we laid him back down, he'd sleep at least," said Rodney.

"Can't sleep," John ground out. "Not with that thing in me."

"What thing?" Teyla asked.

Wasn't it obvious? "In my back. You were messing with it, remember?" Usually his team was brighter than this!

"That's what they have in you? Some sort of adrenaline pump?" Rodney asked.

"I amm certain Dr. Keller will be able to remove it," said Teyla.

"So… why are we still here?" Not that he didn't appreciate them here, with him… needed it, truth be told.

"McKay's afraid to take off," said Ronon.

"I am not!" said Rodney. "Just, waiting for the locals to play their hand. We have no idea what defenses they have operational. You being out of the circuit probably helps, but we really don't know."

"Then… I'll fly us out," he said.

"Like hell!" said McKay. "You don't even know how you got here."

* * *

**Before**

React, react, react…

A ripple… the sky proctor was puzzled, but the ripple was gone.

React, react, react.

Then… invasion! He tried to focus… but the nearest proctors were howling, some broken, some destroyed.

Nearby, screams, an explosion…

Evan Lorne inches from his face. "McKay, can I just rip him out of this thing?"

"No, I will do it!" Ronon edging Lorne aside, his hands on John's arms. "Sheppard, you okay? I'm going to blast the restraints."

"Hold off, you Neanderthal," Rodney shouted. "Let's not kill him ourselves…"

"Dex, if you let me lift him up, you can…"

"I'll do it!"

"Quick, they're regrouping!"

"You do not need to do this alone, Ronon. Let them help."

"Should I just blast the control panel?"

"Hold on, wait… okay, do it now!"

The words, the shouts swirled and merged, voice into voice.

Then he was falling, caught by Ronon. "Can you stand?" Ronon asked. While John was trying to figure out the answer, Ronon scooped him up and John let himself drift.

* * *

**Present**

"Look at you!" Rodney said. "Look at your hands!"

"Don't need my hands to fly…" Though of course he did. "Then get that thing out of me."

"Don't be…" Rodney began, but Ronon and Teyla said together, "I can do it."

"That's the spirit," John said. "Teyla, you get the job and Rodney can help. Ronon, you get to hold me down."

He didn't need very much help to untangle from Ronon's grip and lie prone, his blanket now spread beneath him. Teyla gently, agonizingly, probed near his left shoulder blade. "I do not think it is very sophisticated," she said. "Nothing like a Wraith tracer. It feels like a disc, perhaps three centimeters in diameter, under one centimeter high. I do not think it is anchored in any way; if it is, I will leave it in place."

There was a clatter of plastic and metal. Ah, Teyla rummaging through the secondary medical supplies. "This blade is comfortable, and I believe I will be able to wield it with precision," she said. "If the device is not as compact as it feels, I will leave it in place."

John lay as still as he could as Teyla washed his back. Then… pain! He couldn't help letting out, "Shit! Shit!" and might have rolled away if Ronon hadn't had him securely.

"Keep dabbing the blood, Rodney, I need to see what I'm doing," Telya said calmly; John had forgotten there'd be blood.

"Here it comes…" said Teyla, then, "Ah, this, I believe, is all of it. I will wipe it off… Would you like to see it, John?"

She held it not a foot from his face; it looked, more than anything else, like a very thick poker chip.

"I believe it is vibrating," said Teyla, as she (presumably) bandaged his back.

"So, not chemical, maybe," said Rodney. "That's probably good. Sheppard, how do you feel? Can you tell a difference?"

John gingerly sat up and pulled the blanket back around his waist. "Can I get some pants?"

"Sure," said Ronon, smiling. "Pants - good sign."

John pulled on the sweat pants Teyla handed him, then, after a moment's consideration, a button-down shirt, leaving it undone to keep it loser on his back.

Now, to try standing… in stages, yes. He pulled himself onto the bench, the others looking at him like he was some sort of idiot; then, carefully, to his feet.

Had it been three weeks since he'd stood? That could be enough to explain how shaky he still felt, how weak. But so much better than before.

"So let's do this," he said, moving to the command chair and sinking into the seat… then leaping to his feet again.

"Colonel?" Rodney at his elbow. "You okay there?"

"It touched me…" Stupid, stupid, of course it did, that's what it always did. "Just… a little too familiar a feeling."

"Oh, right, yes, sorry, um, I can fly, really…" Rodney's face was switching between terrified and what John thought might be an attempt at 'understanding'.

"It's okay," John said, lowering himself into the seat again. "Let's…"

Rodney moved behind him and put his hands on John's shoulders. "You're in a jumper," he said. "You're not - anywhere else, okay?" Then, brightly, "Does this help?"

Time to do this before things got any more embarrassing.

Five minutes later, they were out of the planet's gravity well; ten minutes after that, in hyperspace.

Five minutes after that, John was sound asleep.

* * *

**Later**

"Sheppard?"

Ronon!!! How???

The part of him that spoke to things Ancient was humming, but it was fine, it was fine, he was in the pilot's seat of a jumper, not anywhere else. And some of what he remembered having happened, simply hadn't.

Realizing he'd grasped Ronon's vest, he let it go. "Sorry."

"This is going to take a while," said Ronon, and John wasn't sure he meant just the trip back to Atlantis.

* * * *

The next time John awoke, he immediately knew he was in the infirmary. Which was a huge improvement over being disoriented in the jumper.

How would he break the news about Rodney to Jennifer Keller, though? God, how could he live with himself…

The hum of the city, it was disgusted with him…

"John? Colonel, what's wrong?" Rodney, sitting across the room, fingers poised over his laptop.

John rubbed at his eyes. "I'm fine."

"So Jennifer says," said Rodney. "I think you've lost your mind, but apparently I don't get a vote. Actually, scratch that, I get the trump vote, and I reallyreallreally don't want to use it, okay, so don't be crazy. Well, too crazy. For too long."

All in one breath. It never failed to impress John. "As long as you're real right now, it's okay," John said. "Um, does the city seem louder than usual?"

"Uhh…" Rodney cocked his head to the side, listening. "Nope, silent as usual. Can't even hear an iPod stereo."

"The city doesn't hum all the time?"

"Yeah, but you're the Extra Special ATA Man. Wouldn't be surprised at all if it was different for you." He paused. "You could ask Jack O'Neill what it's like for him."

When pigs flew. "It's just - I think it's making me a bit edgy. Maybe all that time, hooked up, not much sleep, I don't know..."

"Would you like to go to Earth, maybe? Or the mainland, or something?"

"I don't know." Waking up in a panic was not fun. To wake up and not have his team there… would not be good.

"Ronon's going to go crazy, not being able to shoot anything to make it all better," McKay said, and John laughed. No, he wasn't going to leave these people.

But a little time away might not be a bad idea.

"Do you think Ronon and Teyla would be up for a bit of time with the Athosians?" he asked.

* * * THE END * * *

"Prompt: Shep-centric torture and aftermath fic. Preferably slave fic, if possible, with a bit of weight-loss on the side (not a must, but it would be a bonus :D) It can include the torture, or be purely aftermath. I'd love to see Sheppard skittish and having a difficult time coming to realize that he's home and safe. Even better, Sheppard with amnesia, still thinking he's in danger (but, again, not a must.) What I don't want: slash, het, gut wounds, appendicitis, quick-fixes (the team badgers John into opening up, or Rodney yells at him, and Sheppard is all better), Sheppard treated like or portrayed as an idiot, death fic, mpreg, anything sexual, anyone else whumped worse than Sheppard."

All comments welcome, here or to helenw at murphnet dot org.


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